


Sometimes You Just Know

by Therapeutic_Steter



Series: Prompt Fics [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Creature Stiles, Dragon!Stiles, M/M, Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: iidiiotiiciintelliigence asked: Oh my gosh. Dragon Stiles is fantastic oh my god. But I've only found a few fics of it, which sucks. So: "Peter had been losing shirts lately. Well. Not so much as loosing as having them stolen out from under his nose." AKA. Dragon Stiles steals Peter ' s clothes and stuff because he likes his scent.





	Sometimes You Just Know

**Author's Note:**

> I try to make a serious title and I keep having freaking "Nose Knows" swimming around my brain. Do you all realize how much of a weakness I have to puns? You should all be thankful that I didn't subject you to that because I was very VERY close to naming this fic that. Like milliseconds from pressing the 'Post' button, I changed it.

“Stiles? Could you come here for a minute?”

“Coming!” Stiles stood from his desk, cracking his back after sitting for so long before heading downstairs to where his dad was working at the kitchen table. “Yeah, pops?”

“Have a seat.”

Stiles did, wondering if he’d done something recently that could’ve gotten him in trouble and if he should admit now or wait to see what his dad knew. John gave him a curious look.

“You’re not in trouble, but that look says that you probably should be. I’m not sure I want to know, though.”

Stiles grinned, relaxing in the chair. “Nonsense, daddio. I’m an angel.”

John laughed, shaking his head before looking down at the book in his head.

“Look. Your eighteenth is coming up in a few weeks and your mom…” John paused, taking a deep breath before pushing through. “Your mom made me promise to give you this before then. She started writing it as soon as we figured out about…the sickness.”

John handed the book over, trying to keep from getting too emotional. Claudia was and probably would always be a sensitive topic for the Stilinski men.

Stiles took the book gingerly, hands brushing over the leather front carefully. His mother’s words, written specifically for him. Words she wanted to make sure he heard, even if she wouldn’t be here to tell him herself.

“She said it was important that you read that before your eighteenth birthday. I don’t know what it says, she asked me not to read it unless you wanted me to, but she said it was very important that you read all of it.”

“Okay,” Stiles croaked, voice cracking with emotion. He cleared his throat, holding the notebook close. “Thanks.”

John smiled sadly, reaching out to brush his hand across Stiles’ scruffy hair.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Stiles sniffled, emotion stinging his eyes. “Love you, dad.”

“Love you too,” John responded, before a steady hand squeezed Stiles’ shoulder before releasing him.

Stiles stood on shaky limbs and retreated back to his room, closing the door this time and sitting on the bed. He looked down at the book, fingers nervously brushing the cover before he worked up enough nerve to open it.

_My Dear Mieczyslaw._

Stiles closed his eyes against his mother’s handwriting, curling around the notebook and breathing shaking, pushing back tears. He forced a few trembling breaths in, wiping at the water that had escaped before returning to reading.

_I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to see you off to follow your dreams. I know they’ll be big and I know you’ll reach them and beyond. Know that I am endless proud of you, my little wriggle wrym._

Stiles stopped again. His fingers brushed over the pages left of the notebook. He didn’t know if he could get through this, not without breaking down every few sentences.

_I’m also sorry I won’t be there to help you with what’s to come. I know that what I’m about to tell you will be hard to believe, but I hope you’ll heed my words. Then again, our kind tends to attract those of Other natures before even presenting, so maybe this won’t be so hard for you to believe after all. I hope not._

Stiles frowned, pushing away the emotional whiplash of reading his mother’s words to actually take in what she was saying.

_I wish I could’ve had this discussion with you myself, but you were just too young. I know you may think I’m already suffering from the delusions of this sickness, but please trust me._ ****

_My family came from Slovakia, as you know. What you don’t know is that your grandparents, my parents, were very opposed to my marrying your father. They sent me over to America to learn, but they wanted me to return and marry another once that was completed. But I met your father and I…I couldn’t bear to leave him. He was my Bonded, môj jediný. I left my Clan for your father, but now my selfishness will bring hardship to you, as you will have no one to teach you._

_We are Other, my little wrym. I am uncertain if you’ve encountered anything beyond the natural world yet in your lifetime. I had spoken with a friend of mine within Beacon Hills who was also Other and she had agreed to introduce you to the Other world, since I cannot do so myself, so I hope she has kept to her vow. Wolves are typically loyal creatures though, so I’m sure she has kept to it, unless something prevented her. But I cannot put all of my faith in her. I must make sure you know. I have to make sure you’re prepared._

_Because I left my Clan, I cannot fight this sickness. Our kind is great, powerful, but even we have weaknesses and need the help of Clanmates. Cutting ties with my family left me weak and I never recovered. Your father is a great man, but I have never been brave enough to speak of my Otherness to him in order to create a True Bond. Maybe you will be braver than I, little wyrm._

_So I will say this, and I hope you will believe me._

_Mieczyslaw, my little wyrm…you are a Dragon._

Stiles stared at the last words on the page with wide eyes, disbelieving.

…

Stiles devoured the notebook his mother had left, reading over every page multiple times. He couldn’t believe he was a dragon! A Dragon! And he was going to be presenting on his eighteenth birthday! He’d get a full shift with wings and claws and everything! His mom explained everything, the shift, the pain, the instincts. How he’d probably start hoarding things, focusing on scents as his senses increased, being even more protective of those he considered his. It was exciting, mind-blowing. He still could hardly believe it!

As he neared his eighteenth though, he began noticing the things his mother had warned him about. Noises were getting louder, more distracting. He would get angrier faster, a flash of heat rushing through his veins at even the slightest provocation. Overall though, he felt more…solid. Steady. Secure. Like he’d finally learned what he’d been searching for all along.

It was the scents that got him though. Everything was so…distracting. He would walk around the house nightly, entering every room and brushing his hands across any surface, ensuring his den carried his scent. He’d gotten touchier with his dad, hugging him or clapping his back often. His dad gave him a few side-eyes in the beginning, but after two weeks of it he’d settled into the new routine, even offering a few hugs before Stiles could go for them. Which was good. Hugs were always good, especially his dad’s.

The Pack though…Going to Derek’s loft and smelling the combined scents was the ultimate test of control. He was getting better as filtering them out and determining whose was whose, but it took a lot of his concentration and usually gave him a headache. The scents milling around there were both welcoming and abhorrent, soothing and threatening. Objectively, he knew they all belonged to his friends, but sudden smells started to equate to danger, threat, and other unhappy things.

These new parts of himself that were coming to be still didn’t give him excuse for what he did.

It started with a normal pack meeting turned pixie hunt, as most things were wont to be in this town. When the Pack had returned from running around like mad-wolves plus one mad-dragon (not that he’d told anyone about that yet), everyone was tired and sore and ready to just take a nap. Scott took Isaac home, Allison and Lydia hadn’t come back with them, and Derek was already headed up the stairs. Peter wiped the blood on his hands on his jeans as he headed to the bathroom, presumably to take a shower. He stripped of his shirt on the way, leaving the dirty v-neck on the floor like the snob he was before closing the door.

Stiles rolled his eyes, pausing from grabbing his clothes out from his overnight bag and snatching the shirt up with full intentions of throwing it in the hamper not five feet away. Something made him pause though, looking down at the shirt in his hand, nostrils flaring just a bit as he breathed in.

Stiles’ knees went weak and he dropped to the floor, still clutching the shirt. He shivered, pupils dilating as he buried his nose into the shirt and breathed in. It was like a drug, the scent. He felt completely overwhelmed, lost to himself. He looked up, eyes focused on the door where Peter had just disappeared and had to shake himself from ripping the door open.

He needed…He needed to get out of there. Right now, before he embarrassed himself. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his bag and rushing out the door.

He never let go of the shirt.

…

He didn’t understand! He searched through every page of the notebook, but his mom never said anything about certain scents giving someone… _that_  kind of reaction. She’d went over everything else so clearly, why would she have left out something like that? He had to be missing something.

In the meantime, he’d done some scent tests, trying to get as close to pure ‘sniffs’ of all of his friends. So far, while Scott smelled just as much as home and safety as his dad and Allison made his figurative hackles rise up, none had resulted in the same reaction. And as the shirt began to naturally lose its scent, he found himself craving it, needing another fix. It was ridiculous to think that way, but it was the only way Stiles could think to explain the incessant, ridiculous  _need_ he felt to find Peter and steal all his clothes.

No one knew where Peter lived though or what he did in his downtime. An oversight of theirs, for sure. But having gone a whole week without a fresh smell and with his birthday less than a week away, he set out after school in an almost daze, following his feet and not giving it much thought other than he needed something and his instincts seemed to know where it was.

When he slipped into an apartment building that seemed no more special than any other, Stiles nearly whimpered in relief when he got just a hint of Peter’s scent in the air. Oh. So that’s what his instincts were searching for.

He followed the scent trail easily, almost running down the hall before stopping at one. He just  _knew_  it was the right one. Predictably, it was locked, but Stiles had learned how to pick locks years ago. He slipped into the apartment easily once he listened and didn’t hear any sounds marking Peter as being home. He wanted to take in the apartment for all it was worth, but firstly he headed straight for the bedroom where a load of dirty laundry was sitting innocently in the hamper. Stiles grinned, snatching a v-neck and sweater towards the top before hugging them close and breathing in. His eyes almost rolled in pleasure as he was surrounded by the scent of Peter. He gasped, mouth open to the air as he just breathed.

It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to get himself together, sneaking out of the room with his treasure in hand. He managed to keep himself from being too touchy, wondering if it was already a moot point with what little bit he had touched and left his scent on, but he didn’t see a way around that. He slipped out of the apartment then, slinking home an odd mixture of pleased and mortified. He had to get this under control.

…

Stiles spent the next few days after his theft looking over his shoulder, waiting for Peter to pop up and attack or demand his shirts back or something. But then the inevitable birthday plans started popping up and he was so excited that he could hardly spare the brain cells to worry about Peter. He was a little concerned on what exactly his presenting would entail so he did manage to talk Lydia out of throwing a wild party and instead doing a smaller thing with just the Pack. That way, if he sprouted wings or starting breathing fire, at least he’d only be in front of people already in the supernatural know. His mom had said he’d come into his power at the time of his birth on his eighteenth birthday, which was around two in the morning if he remembered correctly. He’d have to ask his dad. Luckily, the Pack was planning to celebrate on Friday and his real birthday wasn’t until Sunday, so maybe it would work out.

Perhaps his birthday plans had lulled him into a false sense of security though. Or maybe his eminent presenting made him a little forgetful of other things. But for whatever reason, Stiles had failed to take into account that not only was Peter the most paranoid person ever, he was also the biggest drama king in California. So when he walked into the loft on Friday, all his friends yelling ‘Happy Birthday’ at his entrance, his eyes instantly locked onto Peter’s positively wicked grin.

_Please don’t say anything now,_ he begged mentally, trying to turn into a telepath.

Peter’s eyes sparked with mischievousness, but he didn’t instantly call Stiles out. He let Stiles hug and thank his friends, milling around and honestly avoiding even looking in Peter’s direction for the first two hours of the party.

“Play time’s over, Stiles,” Peter purred from behind him. Stiles startled, glancing at the man from under his lashes.

“Any chance you’d let it drop?” he asked, cautiously hopeful.

Peter rolled his eyes, grabbing Stiles’ shoulder and pulling him into the kitchen for some semblance of privacy, which Stiles was thankful for.

“You want to offer the explanation now or do I need to convince you?” Peter asked, casually leaning against the counter while watching Stiles hungrily.

Stiles gulped. “Well, um…You see…It was for…I didn’t…”

Peter raised a brow. “Anytime now,” he drawled.

Stiles hung his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your shirts.”

“And cashmere sweater,” Peter interjected.

Stiles huffed, glowering at him. “And your cashmere sweater,” he added begrudgingly.

Peter hummed. “Odd, though, isn’t it? If you didn’t mean to steal my clothes, why did you? Not exactly something that happens accidently very often. Even rarely so if those clothes are  _in my place of residence_  and you have to  _pick the lock_  to get inside.”

Stiles gulped at the hint of a growl in Peter’s voice. “Look, dude, I’ll bring them back, I swear. I didn’t…It wasn’t on purpose. I just. I  _had_ to.”

“And I’m still waiting for that explanation.”

Stiles licked his lips nervously. “I know I owe you an explanation, okay? But I just… _can’t._ At least not right now. I’m going through some…stuff, and it turns out my mom left me a book about this stuff, and I’m still trying to…figure that stuff out. Can I, I don’t know, owe you?”

Peter studied him for a moment, eyes brimming with questions but he thankfully held them back. “I can be patient, Stiles. But I will want an explanation. Otherwise, I might be forced to go looking and I get the feeling you wouldn’t want me digging in some places.”

Stiles nodded. “Please don’t. I promise, I will explain, just not right now.”

Peter smirked lightly. “Alright then. We’ll table this discussion for now.” Stiles let out a breath of relief, turning to head back out the room, when Peter grab his wrist. “I thought you might like this though, to add to your collection,” Peter murmured, stepping closer and grinning dangerously. Stiles stopped breathing, scared to inhale Peter’s scent so directly, and barely managed to grasp the cloth Peter shoved in his hand.

Peter winked then before pulling away and strutting out the kitchen. Stiles stood in awe before managing to look at what Peter had just given him. He shivered, licking his lips again unconsciously. It was a soft well-worn v-neck, obviously something Peter wore often. It smelt like Peter’s scent was embedded into the fibers and Stiles bit back a moan.

Oh boy, was he in trouble now.

…

Stiles’ dad had managed to take Sunday off for his birthday, so they had lunch before watching a baseball game and then heading to the diner for lunch. His dad gave him a gift card for a videogame and a new watch. Overall, it was nothing extravagant, but it was still nice. Sadly—or more, conveniently—his dad did have to go in that night though, so around ten o’clock Stiles hugged his dad one last time before the man left for his shift.

“Try not to get into trouble tonight, okay?”

“Never. I’m an angel,” Stiles said.

John laughed, ruffling his son’s hair. “Goodnight, son. Love you.”

“Night, dad. Love you too. Stay safe,” Stiles added, waving as his dad left for work. Then he ran upstairs, changing into some worn clothes for hiking and grabbing his ready back before locking up and heading out the backdoor. He jumped over the fence, walking further into the woods determinedly. He wasn’t sure what exactly his presenting would entail, but he figured being in an open space and away from breakable things or public places would be best.

As the night grew later, Stiles began to feel…different. More energetic. Awake. Alive. His eyesight was perfect even without using the flashlight he’d brought and he didn’t stumble or trip like he’d usually do. He could hear the forest noises around him, the chittering of squirrels and scurrying field mice. He felt invigorated, breathing in the scents of the forest and grinning to himself.

He was almost to his destination, a clearing on the backside of the Preserve, when the forest went silent. He immediately noticed, pausing and listening intently. A steady heartbeat drew his attention, slow and calm like a predator in his own territory. Stiles couldn’t say he was surprised when he breathed in only to be enveloped in Peter’s familiar, entrancing scent.

“You just get more and more interesting,” Peter spoke, stalking through the trees to Stiles’ side and matching his pace. Stiles continued to the hearing, knowing it was a moot point to try and get Peter to leave him alone after all the oddities the man must’ve observed.

“Just you wait,” Stiles muttered. Peter chuckled.

“Oh? Do I get my explanation now?”

Stiles glanced over at him. “I bet even you wouldn’t have seen this coming. And honestly, I’m not completely sure what’s going to happen, but whatever it is, it’s going to happen in…” He glanced at his phone. “…about an hour.”

“I’m assuming this is something you want kept secret for now?”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s not like it won’t get out eventually with our luck, but I do want a little bit of time to come to terms with it before I start telling the whole Pack. Changing one’s species isn’t something one gets used to overnight.”

Peter hummed curiously. “And what, exactly, are you turning in to?”

Stiles ignored his question as they finally reached the clearing. He dropped his bag, turning to look at Peter steadily. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scents of the clearing as well as Peter’s natural scent. He felt like he was buzzing, a rush running through his veins. There was a stiffness in his muscles and he stretched, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. A pressure on his fingertips and gums started, an ache deep within him that just needed to be released.

Peter’s eyes widened as he took in Stiles’ form. The boy’s eyes were glowing a molten orange like embers, though he doubted the boy was even aware. He had a different presence about him now than Peter had ever felt. It was almost like watching a lazing predator, one you knew could strike at any moment but right now was the picture of calm.

Stiles started shifting in place, rolling his shoulders and releasing ‘pops’ from his stiff joints. His fingers stretched and curled rhythmically. His heartbeat was slowing, a steady thump that would’ve made Peter think he was asleep if it wasn’t for him watching the boy move. Stiles opened his mouth wide, jaw twisting back and forth like he had an ache there. Peter unconsciously took a few steps back, the pressure in the clearing surrounding them growing heavier. It was like the moments before a storm, a weighted silence just waiting for a burst to release the tension.

Stiles’ eyes flickered, glowing even brighter, before he threw his head back. No sound came from him as his teeth elongated just as his face started shifting as well. Peter held his breath as Stiles’ form morphed. It was an awe-worthy transition, smooth and effortless. Claws burst from his fingertips, his shoes were ripped to shreds as his feet changed. His shirt was ripped apart as spikes protruded from his back with a tail following shortly after. The final step was the wide wings that burst from his back, extending almost the full width of the clearing. Stiles roared with the finalization of his shift. Where the boy had been, now a towering beast stood.

A dragon.

Peter could barely breathe, eyes alight with disbelief and awe. It was like watching a fairytale come to life. A dragon. A dragon! Stiles was a dragon!

Stiles made a rumbling sound, molten eyes watching him. He shifted on his feet, twisting his long neck and take in his new form. When he flapped his wings inquisitively, Peter couldn’t help but chuckle because Stiles had let out a chirping sound of excitement. Stiles turned his attention back to Peter at the sound, huffing and leaning closer. His breath was a waft of warm air over him.

“You continue to surprise me,” Peter murmured in reverence.

Stiles snuffled, breathing in Peter’s scent and stepping just a bit closer. Peter lifted his hand, hesitantly reaching out for Stiles’ face. The dragon leaned into the touch, letting him brush his fingers across the scales. They felt like warm stones, smooth and alive.

Stiles felt much more at peace now that he’d finally presented. He felt comfortable, like he was always meant to be in this form. He also felt a glowing center within himself that hadn’t been there before. Breathing in Peter’s scent and feeling his touch against his scales, he was beginning to understand why his mother hadn’t explained his reaction to the man before.

_Môj jediný_ , she had called his dad. Her Only.

Peter smiled like a child, pleased and excited at seeing something new, something he thought was just a myth. Stiles made a purring sound, pleasure bursting from him at the obvious sign of his Bonded’s happiness.

“I suppose I should be honored to have been chosen as the subject of a dragon’s hoard,” Peter teased him lightly, still much too joyful to come off as anything less.

Stiles’ snorted, brushing against his side and chirping adorably.

Peter smiled, running his hands down the scales of Stiles’ neck, more confident now in his welcome. He couldn’t help but watch the moonlight reflecting off the scales. The white light made Stiles shimmer like he was made of water, beauty and grace personified. He felt something like a Pack bond centered within him, but it felt different. Stronger. And it was obviously tethered to the dragon in question. He wasn’t that concerned though, simply welcomed the bond within him and cradled it close. He would ask Stiles about it later, once the boy had changed back. For now, he would soak in the relief of having such a connection when he’d been denied true Pack bonds for so long.

“I hope you know, you’ll never get rid of me now,” Peter warned him.

Stiles growled, curling around the wolf and chuffing once.

And, well. That was that then. Peter smiled; he guessed there were worse fates.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a prompt on [tumblr](https://therapeutic-steter.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
